


accommodation

by leah k (blinkiesays)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blinkiesays/pseuds/leah%20k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's not like I can afford a hooker," Stiles barrels on, "And even if I <em>could</em> there's my <em>dad</em> to think about and Scott has like <em>opinions</em> on exploitation and sex trafficking now.  So.  That leaves Isaac.  Or you."</p><p>Stiles stops talking long enough to breathe in, looks Derek over, says, "And Isaac's not here."</p><p>(Coda to 3x03 - "Fireflies")</p>
            </blockquote>





	accommodation

"Why are you here?"

Stiles shifts from one foot to the other in the doorway, looks past Derek's shoulder into the loft.

"Honestly?" Stiles says, then shakes his head, says, "No, screw honestly, I'm not -- look, I'm just looking for Isaac, is he here?"

Derek shrugs.  "Usually."  He turns his back on Stiles and walks further into the loft.   By the door's too open, exposed.  He doesn't expect Stiles to follow him in, but of course that's what he does.

"But not now," Stiles says.  "Great.  _Awesome_."

Derek looks back at Stiles, tries again to ask _why_ Stiles is _here_ , but Stiles interrupts him mid-sentence.

"Do you find me attractive?" he asks, eyes narrowing.

" _What?_ "

"Would you have sex with me?" Stiles asks, undeterred, the sound of his voice to the point, urgent.  "Is that something you'd do?"

"Why are you-"

"You're not answering my questions," Stiles says, impatient.  He actually crosses his arms, starts tapping his foot.

"And I'm not _going to_ until you tell what the hell you're-"

"My circle of friends is, as you may be aware, limited," Stiles says, in explanation of nothing.  "Obvious R Kelly references aside, Lydia wouldn't piss on me if I was _on fire_.  And, though I'd like to believe I have the charm and charisma to pull off the line _fuck me so I don't die_ , I think we both know that's not the case."

It takes Derek a long time to realize what Stiles is talking about and when it hits him, he still doesn't actually believe that they're having this conversation.

"It's not like I can afford a hooker," Stiles barrels on, "And even if I _could_ there's my _dad_ to think about and Scott has like _opinions_ on exploitation and sex trafficking now.  So.  That leaves Isaac.  Or you."

Stiles stops talking long enough to breathe in, looks Derek over, says, "And Isaac's not here."

Derek doesn't know how he's supposed to respond to that.

"That's what I thought," Stiles says, nodding.  "So where do you think he is?  Scott said he was at the school earlier, do you know where he went?"

"I'll do it," Derek says.

"What was that?" Stiles asks, disbelieving.  " _What_ did you just say?"

Derek closes his eyes for a second and all he can see is -- Stiles' eyes open, glassy, lifeless.  A red, gaping line across the long, pale stretch of his throat.  Stiles is _aggravating_ , he's -- but no one deserves _that._   When he opens his eyes again, Stiles is staring at him, mouth hanging slightly open.

"Right," Stiles says, slowly, "That's what I thought you said.  I'll show myself out."

Derek surges forward, grabbing Stiles' arm, holding him still _for once_.  "I said I'd do it."  Stiles just -- stares down at Derek's hand.  Derek doesn't think, moves, picks Stiles up roughly and deposits him on the desk, on top of scattered print-outs, the plans for the bank vault.

Derek says, "If that's really what you _want_ -"

"I know everyone thinks it should be this, this, beautiful lifetime event and whatever, but I don't _care anymore_ ," Stiles says, "If my other option is _living in constant fear_ then yeah, I'm pretty-"

Derek kisses him, not gently -- it's artless, efficient.

Kate had kissed in light, barely-there touches, teasing.  Soft.  Said, "You're beautiful," and, "I love you," and "I'll make it good for you."  Called him little names like _honey, puppy, baby, darling._   The least Derek can do for Stiles is not _lie_ to him, not _condescend_ , not pretend this is something different than it is.

Stiles' scent is half-scared, half-aroused, but that's nothing new.  His heart rate, though, is fast, panicky.  Enough that Derek breaks off the kiss, asks, "Are you-"

Stiles moves faster than expected, fists his hand in Derek's shirt, pulls him forward into another kiss - desperate and inexperienced.  He lets Derek go long enough to shrug out of his flannel shirt, pull his t-shirt over his head.  His eyes are -- scared, yes, but hard-edged, focused.  Daring Derek to back down.

"I have," Stile says, and reaches into his pocket, the sound of crinkling foil loud in the empty, echoing space.  Derek glances at the wrapper, can't quite suppress the raised eyebrow at the label.  Stiles squirms, says, "It's not, I didn't buy-"

"It'll work."

"I also - in my bag."  Derek half-turns, grabs Stiles' backpack from where he'd dropped it when Derek grabbed him.  "Front zipper."

Derek carefully doesn't claw at it, works his finger into the opening between the tines of the zipper and pushes it down.  There's a pack of gum, a crumpled half-finished Sudoku from a one-a-day calendar, and a small tube of KY.  Derek assumes that's what Stiles is referring to.

"Hey, if we're gonna _do this_ then I gotta," Stiles says, heel of his shoe kicking into the back of Derek's knee, "Get off me, I gotta-"  Derek takes a step back, watches Stiles move through a set of odd contortions removing his shoes, socks, pants, still perched on the desk.  Stiles hesitates, slightly, thumbs hooked into the waistband of his underwear, before pushing them off in one quick move, kicking them off his ankle when they get tangled there.

Derek didn't know _what_ to expect, but Stiles naked is.  Surprising.  He looks -- that same odd mix of exposed, vulnerable, and defiant.  "Hey," Stiles says, impatient, "You, too.  I'm not just here to-"

Derek pulls his shirt off, mostly desperate not to hear how Stiles was going to end that sentence.  He'd just woken up when Stiles showed up at his door, hadn't been wearing socks, shoes, underwear.  All he has to do is push his sweatpants off.

Stiles looks him over, nervous.  His hands twitch against the edge of the desk like he doesn't know where to put them.

Derek takes a few steps forward and in, back between Stiles' spread legs.  He takes Stiles' right wrist -- carefully this time, Stiles is something he could easily, unintentionally break -- and guides his hand to Derek's cock, only half-hard.

It's not -- this situation isn't _sexy_.  The only thing at all sexy about it is that they're actually _having sex_.

Stiles' hand wraps around Derek's dick, tentative, wrist at an awkward angle.  "OK," Stiles says on an exhalation.  "OK, I got this."  It's a poor choice of words and it makes Derek, sigh, involuntary, and Stiles, he kind of smiles and looks up at Derek through his lashes like -- _get it?_   And Derek's cock twitches into Stiles' hand, interested.

"Like that, huh?" Stile says with faux-bravado.  Derek doesn't say anything, which Stiles apparently takes as encouragement.  He takes his hand back, licks a broad stripe up his palm, and reaches for Derek again.  "Yeah, OK, you like that."

Derek reaches forward, hands on Stiles' narrow hips -- bones delicate, visible through the skin -- and pulls Stiles forward until he's perched barely on the edge.  The desk came with the loft -- it's a good height for this.

"How do you want to-" Derek asks.

Stiles _blushes,_ says, "Don't make me _say it_ -"  He reaches out with his free hand, grabs the condom and holds it out, towards Derek.  "Just," he says, "Just-"

Derek takes it from him with one hand, lays the other over Stiles' sternum -- heartbeat still too fast -- and pushes him until he figures out what Derek wants and leans back, flat against the desk.

"This is - weird," Stiles says, to the ceiling.

"You don't have to-"

"Shut up," Stiles says, and he lifts his legs up, fits the arches of his feet against the edge of the desk.  "I _want to_.  This is _my idea_.  I only think twice when you _stop_ and _ask_ , so you should stop doing that."

"Fine," Derek grits out.  The foil packet rips easily under his fingers.  He's not used to the feeling of the condom rolling down on his dick.  Kate had been on the pill, they hadn't -- and since then it hasn't been what anyone would call _frequent_.

"OK, great," Stiles says, still addressing the ceiling.  "Everyone's in agreement here."

Stiles looks open, like this.  There aren't really other words for it.  Derek grabs the KY from where he'd left it earlier, snaps the cap completely off on accident and it falls to the floor, rolls under the couch.

"I haven't done this in a while," Derek says, stalling.  The logistics of it are straightforward, but still.

"Well I haven't done this ever," Stiles says, "That's kind of the point."

Derek works one slicked-up finger into Stiles, slowly.  Stiles inhales noisily, the muscles of his inner thighs twitching.  He breathes out, slowly and deliberately, and Derek can feel him forcing himself to relax.

"It's different," Stiles says, "When someone else does it."

"Yeah," Derek says, adding more lubricant, another finger. "That's kind of the point."

Stiles laughs, a punched-out exhale, and then he makes a deeper, raspier noise.  "Oh," he says, "I think I understand-"

Derek doesn't really want to hear Stiles' latest revelation, works in a third finger.  Stiles starts making new noises, one fist wrapped around his own cock, red and leaking onto his fingers, his stomach.

Derek's been concentrating on Stiles, only half paying attention to his own body, but laid out, Derek's hand half-disappeared into his body, Stiles looks -- it's becoming harder for Derek to ignore his own reactions.  His movements feel more urgent, almost frantic.

"Are you," Derek asks, "Can I-"

"Yeah," Stiles half-moans, breathy.  "Go for it."

Derek carefully pulls his fingers out, leaves them touching Stiles' hole as he reaches his other hand down, lines his dick up and pushes in and in, excruciatingly slow.

"Jesus," Stiles says, "That's-"  He trails off, eyes unfocused, tracking something on the ceiling.  Derek feels -- good.  It's, it's not something the he thinks should be _enjoying_ , exactly -- but it feels good.

"Oh," Stiles says, when Derek's all the way in and they're completely connected, breathing the same air and not really making eye contact.  "You can - move.  You should - do that."  He reaches out, bats at Derek's shoulder.  It's taking Derek a lot of effort to be -- to not give Stiles more than he can handle.

Derek pulls back, a little.  Pushes back in.  Stiles pants up at the ceiling, says, "Like that, yeah."  Derek does it again, and again, a little more each time until Stiles is just -- taking it.  Full, deep thrusts that rock the desk on its feet, pushing it back a few inches at a time.

"Oh, wow, OK," Stiles says, dazed, "I'm gonna-"  He arches back, a little, coming all over his hand.  The air _reeks_ of semen and Stiles' body clenches down on Derek's dick, these little involuntary shudders, and it's a lot at once.  Too much, and Derek comes with an embarrassing grunt.

Derek braces both hands against the desk, on either side of Stiles shoulders, while Stiles catches his breath.  This close, Derek can see Stiles' thighs shaking with effort to stay up.

Derek pulls out, ties off the condom and throws it -- somewhere.  Stiles scoots back, pushing off the edge, papers falling everywhere, until just his calves are dangling over the side.

"Yay," Stiles says, mildly, making a weak _rah-rah_ kind of gesture with his fist.  "Mission accomplished."

Derek feels, for the first time, out of place, awkward -- standing in front of the window with his dick hanging out, Stiles sprawled out and _wrecked_ in front of him.

"So, obviously, I _can_ pull off _fuck me so I don't die_."

"Stiles," Derek says.  This isn't -- everything's a _joke_ to Stiles.

"What," Stiles says, indignant. "What do I say here?  Thank you?"

Derek shrugs.  He finds his sweatpants, pulls them on.  He walks to the kitchen and fills an old plastic Raiders cup with water, brings it back to Stiles.

"I didn't think you'd say yes," Stiles says, "I assumed you'd get all, I don't know, _shouldn't it be someone you really love?_ "

Derek shakes his head.  He lost his virginity to someone he really loved.  It's not all it's cracked up to be.

Stiles slides gracelessly off the desk, grabs his scattered clothes.  "Thanks for not - being a dick about it.  Thanks for-" He shakes his head.  " _Fuck it_."

Stiles drops his clothes and walks up to Derek and kisses him.  Close.  Intimate.  Unhurried.  Not desperate or determined or proving something.  He pulls back, leaving Derek a little confused, and says, "That was kind of amazing and it could have been really… not good.  You didn't have to do that.  I know you don't even _like_ me."

"Stiles-" Derek starts.

Stiles walks backwards a couple steps, quickly, distancing himself.  "So," he says, "Wow, this is awkward."

Whatever was running him before -- fear, adrenaline, sheer stupidity -- seems to have evaporated, leaving him uncertain, covering it with a fake, bright tone in his voice.

"OK," he says, "I'm going now.  I'm going to go now.  This is me leaving."

Stiles starts walking towards the door before he stops, turns, eyes gone wide, and he says, "Oh God, I'm still naked aren't I."  He doesn't look at Derek, darts towards his backpack, his discarded pile of clothing, and crouches down over it, rummaging through his things.

"Stiles," Derek says, and Stiles pauses.  "I don't… not like you."

Stiles trips into his underwear, smiling, a little.

Stiles wriggles into his jeans, shirt.  "I'd say we should do this again sometime," he says, "But it's really only a thing you can do once."

Derek doesn't laugh at that, exactly.

Stiles says, "OK, I'm leaving for reals this time."  He grabs his shoes, socks, over-shirt, shoves them into his backpack and walks to the door barefoot.  Part of Derek wants to stop him.

"You're safe now," Derek says, instead.  "Try and stay that way."

"Yeah," Stiles says, "Thanks for that."  When he gets up the stairs, he glances back at Derek, once, before he turns on his heel and walks out.  He closes the door once he's through and it rattles shut with a loud, final-sounding thud.

Derek looks around the loft - scattered papers, his discarded shirt, the used condom.  He should open a window, the smell is -- pervasive.

There's a clatter of feet on the spiral staircase.  "Is this-" Isaac starts.  "This is going to be another thing you and I don't talk about, isn't it."

Derek looks at him, raises both eyebrows.

"Got it," Isaac says.


End file.
